Lie or Die
by NotAlone87
Summary: A Hunger Games -Glee Fic with eventual Klaine. Hope you like it & please review! :D Rated T for possible violence.
1. Never

**HEYYYYYY! Notalone87 in the HOUSE. SO, as I mentioned in my other story, "A Different Kiss", this IS a hunger games - glee fic! Just some quick notes that ARE IMPORTANT TO READ SO DON'T SKIP IT PLEASE! **

**1. Finn & Kurt are real brother's in this. Not step brothers, they were both born born from Kurt's mom & dad.**

**2. This is ONLY rated "T" for possible violence in future chapters. It will be no worse the "The Hunger Games" Or "Glee". Most likely, it will usually be at a K+ level, but I made it T just to be safe.**

**OKAZIES! So now that we have that done, enjoy the story, and please review! **

**:D**

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"_Ten. Just ten." _Kurt continued to remind himself to keep calm. The bread he was chewing might as well have been paper. "_Ten slips. Is that enough out of thousands to get picked?"_ Kurt thought compulsively. He began to gnaw on his trembling lips, that began to bleed instantly. Kurt knew no one who would volunteer for him if he got picked. Not even Finn. The unspoken truth was, family only went as far as life. When death was in the situation, it was every man for themselves.

Kurt already had laid out a presentable ensemble for him to wear to the reaping. It was a baby blue button up shirt made out of material softer than anything short of satin. His slacks were a sickly olive green, something that made Kurt wince, but they were his only acceptable pants. His others were ripped or peppered with stains.

Kurt combed his chestnut wavy hair to the side so that the left side of his forehead was exposed. His whole body was scattered with scars, years of hard labor had taken a toll on him. Kurt was only 18 years old and his hairline was already receding.

Finn hesitantly walked into Kurt's room. He looked respectable enough, with his broad shoulders embraced with a wide, navy blue shirt. Kurt looked down at Finn's shoes and frowned. They were tattered, with peeling leather coating and shredding laces. Kurt became even more sad realizing there was no alternative. Even though they lived in District 8, the clothing district, they lived in the rural outskirts of the District, right near the border of District 9. So whatever clothes they got were the scraps they could scrounge up for little to no money. Saying that the Hummel's were poor was an understatement. The best meal Kurt had ever had was a thin soup with rotten mushrooms. He had felt gorged that night.

"You look alright." Kurt said quietly to Finn. Finn nodded dismissively. The truth was, neither of them looked as good as the others were going to. The never had. But they had scarcely any energy, time, or reason to care about their appearance. If it didn't put food in their mouths, it had a low precedence to Kurt. Finn had the same mindset, unless it involved Quinn. Quinn was the only person that Finn would truly do anything for. She was beautiful. One of the only beautiful people Kurt had ever seen. She had wavy, shoulder- length blonde hair. A small frame that she always boasted with tight shirts. A smile that could effortlessly melt butter. Hypnotizing hazel eyes with seducing, thick lashes comparable to a curtain. Yes, Kurt could definitely see the appeal. But, of course, she had no effect on Kurt. No girl had an effect on Kurt. But this was a secret.

Burt walked into the room, wearing a tattered denim shirt and sweatpants. Since Burt didn't qualify for the reaping, there was no reason for him to dress for the camera's- if God forbid that was his fate.

"Alright, boy's. It's 11:30. It's a twenty- minute walk, so we should get going." Burt said, voice soft, yet jagged.

Both the boys agreed silently. The dirt path heading to the square where the reaping was held was an unattractive route, but it was their only choice.

The walk was much too quick, and before he knew it, Kurt was standing in a tight space in between two meaty boys, fists clenched. Kurt's already snow-white complexion grew paler as the escort of District 8, a man named Will Schuester, stepped up to the mahogany podium.

"Welcome, everyone! I know you're all eager to start another year of fun, so let's get started! Ladies first."

Kurt was sickened by the way the capitol people called the Hunger Games "fun." Ever since Kurt's mom had died, Kurt had become especially sensitive to the subject of death. The Hunger Games was a constant reinforcement of this pain.

Will Schuester went up to the girls reaping ball, lazily pulling out a white strip of paper, the color of the slip comparable to Kurt's skin. He pulled it out as if the fate of the person's name he was holding wasn't about to be involuntarily decided.

"Quinn Fabray? Is there a Quinn Fabray here?" Will Schuester said in a clear, unmistakable voice.

Quinn stood out among the girls like a piece of gold in a pile of rocks. Her face had become a tightened, colorless grimace. She didn't cry, instead, she put on an expressionless mask. A disguise. She walked up to the stage in firm, fixed strides.

Her body had gone so stiff; Kurt wouldn't be surprised if they found her frozen in an hour.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Finn yelled suddenly. Kurt jerked his head so violently he thought it would snap. Kurt always knew Finn would take a bullet for Quinn, so this wasn't surprising, in an odd way.

"Well, you're a very brave young man! But I'm afraid a boy cannot legally volunteer for a girl. If you're so eager, wait for the boys name to be called. Maybe it will be yours!" Will said restlessly. Finn sunk back into his row, looking as if somebody has just killed him and every fiber of his being.

"Well! Haven't we gotten a real stunner this year for the girls! And some brave contenders for the boys!" Will Schuester said cheerfully. Will excitedly bounded over to the boys reaping bowl, delicately feeling around the bowl before ripping one out of the ball excitedly.

Kurt could scarcely breath. This was his last year; if he could get through the next 30 seconds, he would never have to worry about his name being called in a crisp, clear voice. Never again would he have to worry about people in colorful outfits cheering to see him killed.

Never.

The man at the podium elegantly opened the slip of paper.

"Kurt Hummel?"

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	2. Unaffected

**So... *drumroll* HERE IS CHAPTER 2! :D**

**It left off right when Kurt was reaped. The timeframe is Glee's early second season.**

**HOPE YOU LIKE IT! :D **

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Kurt's face drained of any remaining color or blood. A million scenarios of death flashed into his mind like strobe lights. The only thing that got him to move was the faint realization of somebody pushing him, but Kurt was so numb he might as well have been on fire.

Will's cheery face immediately deflated when he saw Kurt. Kurt guessed that the Capitol liked tributes to be burly, strong boys that oozed confidence, arrogance, and determination. Slumped over and paper- white, Kurt looked the very opposite of this.

"Well…" Will said in a sudden monotone. "We certainly have… Diversity, this year don't we?" Will said, coughing lightly after he finished his sentence.

"Introducing the tributes of District 8 in the 87th annual Hunger Games… Quinn Fabray and Kurt Hummel." Will said, voice glazed with boredom.

Quinn's usual icy stare was soft when she met Kurt's eyes. _"She looks… Tired, almost."_ Kurt thought.

Will shuffled them into the Justice Building so quick, Kurt thought his still- numb legs were going to fall off right then and there.

Kurt was immediately taken to a room, the decoration fashioning it fancier than Kurt had ever dreamed of being possible.

What this room was didn't need to be told to Kurt. This was the goodbye room.

Kurt knew that all the other boy tributes from District 8 had used this room in past years. Kurt thought of last year's tribute. A nice boy, perhaps too polite for his own good in the arena. He had been kind to Kurt before he was reaped.

And he had sat right where Kurt was sitting.

Kurt shifted in realization. The door squeaked slightly, and then he saw two blurry, tear- fogged images of Burt and Finn.

Burt went over to Kurt, sitting down and patting Kurt's shoulder supportively.

Finn just stood there.

Kurt didn't have much to say. He reminded Finn to be careful with the money they had put away if this situation ever occurred, and to keep Burt safe.

Then Kurt turned to Burt. "Dad, you just had a heart attack. Don't you dare try to do anything. Finn can hunt and gather, and I'm sure with enough bargaining he'll do okay at the market. You'll get by. Don't try to help! You'll die if you work too hard. It's not worth it. Please, Dad!" Kurt was crying and Burt's face was stone.

"Kurt, I'm fine. I'm strong. I recovered. I can help Finn!" Burt shouted.

"Don't you dare!"

Then suddenly, the Peacekeeper's were taking Burt and Finn away and Kurt was desperate. Because the second that door closed, it was out of his control.

"Finn! Don't let him!" Kurt was sobbing, his chest heaving, his throat burning.

"Kurt! I'll-" Finn got cut off. Kurt threw himself on the bed, coughing and making little squeaky, strained noises. "WHAT, FINN? YOU'LL, _WHAT?"_ Kurt screamed, as if Finn could hear him. Was Burt already trying to take over? Was Finn keeping him safe? Was anybody safe?

Kurt had no more visitors. Some men, obviously Peacekeepers, took the shaking Kurt into a dead, black car. Kurt had never seen a car. He would've been more excited if he were in a slightly different predicament.

Kurt's eyes were still swollen and red, his cheeks colorful again. His lips were trembling, and whole body twitching.

And then there was Quinn. Fixing her hair is the shiny reflection of the mirror in front of her.

Unaffected.

On some level, Quinn's calmness settled Kurt, to the extent that he could be calmed in this situation.

Cameras were swarming. Kurt had never been good at lying, so smiling or appearing any other way than he felt was nearly impossible.

The car ride only lasted a few minutes before both the tributes were whisked away to a train. The speed was incredible. Over 200 miles per hour. Kurt had never been in anything a fraction of that speed.

Kurt's room on the train was breathtaking. It was beautifully furnished, with so many electronics, Kurt was physically overwhelmed.

The first thing Kurt did was order fresh bread and cheese from the kitchen. Kurt was shocked that an action that complicated could be done with the press of a single button. The food was laid out before him, still warm, in 46 seconds. Kurt had timed it.

There was no dinner that night since it was so late already. Somehow, Kurt managed to shower, get dressed, and in bed without pressing any wrong buttons or switches.

He thought about his dad. Was he already trying to put the weight of the world on his shoulders? Because sick or not, that weight was just too heavy.

Finally, Kurt closed his eyes and braced himself.

Because there was no going back.

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	3. Uncontrollable

**HEYYYOOOOO! What's up, readers? Sorry it took so long to update. I felt like taking a little break, and then my beta pointed out something that I should fix and it took a few days to work up the motivation to actually fix it ;P. Well, here it tis! BY THE WAY, just so ya'll know, I LOVE reviews. So feel 100% free to post whatever you want. :). By the way, I just read like, the BEST fanfic ever. It's called 'Coincidence' by "seethebrighterlights" CHECK IT OUT. LIKE, RIGHT NOW.**

**Well, hope you enjoy! I really loved writing this, so… REVIEW! :D**

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The first thing Kurt saw when he awoke was blackness. _"Must be a tunnel. We are on a train, after all." _Kurt thought groggily. He sat up reluctantly and immediately the smell of something fresh and hot wafted into his nostrils. It was too tempting to resist, so after Kurt had thrown on the first clothes he found, he ran to where he believed the dining room was.

The moment Kurt opened the door his nose was flooded with hundreds of different delectable scents. The priority of each smell was a conflicted battle in Kurt's brain. Looking at the table, Kurt had never seen so much food at one time.

Kurt sat down next to Quinn, who had already helped herself to a generous portion of fruit. Kurt speared three battercakes with his fork and practically shoveled the food into his mouth. He was in no mood to talk, but certain other people had different opinions on that matter.

"We will be arriving in the Capitol very soon. Isn't this exciting?" Will said between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs.

Kurt choked back what he wanted to say. How could slaughter ever be categorized as even remotely 'exciting'?

"Yes. Very exciting." Quinn said quietly.

"Mmmhmm." Was all Kurt could manage.

"When we arrive at the Capitol, you both will get to meet your stylists!" Will babbled on cheerfully. Kurt pretty much zoned out until he heard Will say something that made him lose his appetite.

"… You both are just so lucky to be here…"Will said on a seemingly never-ending drag of breath.

"Yeah, were just so lucky, aren't we?!" Kurt muttered._ "Lucky like death." _Kurt thought. The fact that Will thought that Kurt was _lucky _to be put in a modern stockyard was a simple reinforcement of his sheer hate to the Capitol people. All that filled their waking hours were thoughts of physical vanity and watching children die for their sole entertainment. Kurt was just a piece in their game. He lived in their world. And now everything that Kurt did, the capitol owned it. That was the most frustrating thing to Kurt. He didn't even own his own actions anymore. They belonged to someone else. There was nothing that he could do about it.

It was uncontrollable.

"What was that?" Will said, obviously not interested at all. Quinn's death stare was shooting bullets at Kurt, as if her life depended on whatever he was about to say.

Kurt's anger swirled around his now – unmerciful heart. Then he realized, what he was trying to accomplish wouldn't be resolved this way.

"Nothing." Kurt murmured coldly.

"Oh!" Will exclaimed, touching a beeping device in his ear. "Your mentor is coming in! Come on in, Kayla!" Will bubbled, shouting to the car neighbored to them.

A short girl bounded in. Her face was sunny, but her eyes held a faded look of resentment. She had crimped, long blonde hair and a thick, wide smile. Her eyes were a deep brown. She wore tall, black heels that clanked loudly when she walked across the hardwood floor of the train. Besides her height, she resembled Quinn quite closely.

"Hello. It's nice to meet both of you. I hope in the following days I can help prepare you for the arena. Shall we start discussing strategies over lunch?" Kayla said almost robotically, holding a light smile during her talking. Her tone was hardly attentive, as if time had lost its meaning. It wasn't an uncaring voice, more a voice that had lost its motivation. Before anyone could respond, Kayla spoke again.

"I will meet you here at noon." Kayla said with a tight nod. With that, she walked out, smoothing her floral yellow dress as she walked out of the car. The door closed with a quiet sucking of air. Suddenly, Will gasped.

"Oh my! Were… here."

Kurt's subconscious immediately looked out the window, at a sight he could've only imagined.

What we saw were candy colored building's, pavements glossy with a spectrum of color. People were eagerly standing outside the train, waving at the tributes, their sparkling hands altered with dye. Wigs were even on the children. Children whom to work was as irrelevant to their lives as hunger. Everything shimmered, as if the whole city had been coated with dew. The sky was a metallic silver, something that was so unnatural, even Kurt had to wonder how it was possible. Despite the repulsiveness of the Capitol's occupations, Kurt had to admit that the design of the exterior was, indeed gorgeously elaborate.

Kurt was speechless. All he could do was stare. Then, suddenly, the icy reality of it all washed over him. Kurt had to remember that this beauty had his death certificate written out.

No matter how pretty the apple, nevertheless, it was still poisoned.

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**Like it? I loved the last line. SNOW WHITE! :D. Anyway, REVIEW! :)**


	4. Ugly

**Hey YA'LL! So, this is chapter 4! This is 100% my FAVE chapter so far! I'm really excited about it! So review with what you thought! A shout out to my gurl KAYLA for beta-ing. YOU ROCK! :D**

**Hope you like it!**

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Kurt had experienced severe physical pain many times before in his life. He had had to do hard labor on less than two hours of sleep some days. But none of that, not even breaking his leg, could compare to what he was experiencing right now.

"OW!" DAMN YOU!" Kurt screamed shrilly at Amondia, a short girl, hair dyed bright orange, who had just taken hot wax of off Kurt's arm violently.

"So-orry!" Amondia said with a roll of her eyes.

"Were almost halfway done with almost all of it, now!" Said a tall man named Exirptis whose skin held an electric blue hue.

This was going to be a long day.

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Two hours and uncountable experiences of pain later, Kurt was taken into an elevator to go see his main stylist. His resentment was painfully evident.

Kurt was brought into a room completely made of glass. Not that there was anything outside to see but four black surrounding buildings on each side.

Kurt tenderly sat down on a plush, dark red couch with gadgets on either side. Barely a moment later, the glass doors split open to reveal his stylist.

It was shocking how aberrant the man was to the Capitol stereotype. He had an unstyled head of subtle curls, his torso bearing nothing but a gray t-shirt. His pants were formal black slacks.

Other than the basics, Kurt had to admit this man was very attractive. He looked to be only a few years Kurt's senior. He had a cut body, and deep caramel eyes. His light smile was impeccable, as if his lips were in existence merely to form the hypnotizing grin.

"Hello." The boy said in a deep, vibrant baritone. "I'm Blaine. Your stylist."

* * *

The boy leniently outstretched his hand. Kurt was stupefied. He somehow managed to shake Blaine's hand. Their finger's threaded together effortlessly, Kurt unable to process anything but the feeling of security, even though his situation was anything but secure.

"I'm Kurt." Kurt choked out, mesmerized. This had never happened to him before. Kurt had never been attracted to a girl, much less a boy. Besides, The Hunger Games was no time for romance. Especially not with your stylist!

"Well. Shall we discuss your opening ceremonies outfit?" Blaine said, his rutilant eyes tearing away from Kurt's cerulean pupils.

"Sure." Kurt said, voice forcefully glazed.

"Okay. So, this year, I've decided that… well… everything is too… materialistic, in the Capitol." Blaine murmured, sounding shameful.

Kurt couldn't believe what he was hearing, considering the Capitol was signing Blaine's paycheck for the mere reason of glorifying their standards.

"Anyway, I'm the kind of person who likes to… Make a _statement,_ you know?" Blaine said, voice thick with doubt.

Kurt had always lived on too fine a line to be rebellious. One step out of line and the Peacekeepers would put his name in the reaping bowl twenty more times.

"No. I don't know. Because your _friends_ would have killed me if I did anything besides play by their rules." Kurt barked ruthlessly.

Blaine saw right through Kurt's anger. "I know this is hard and unfair, but please, don't shoot the messenger." Blaine muttered wearily.

Kurt had never thought of it like that. He blamed everyone in the Capitol equally. But, maybe, Blaine wasn't the villain. Maybe he was just more scared of the villain than Kurt. Kurt would be willing to fight for justice. Maybe Blaine was siding with the Capitol just because he was too terrified to go against them.

"Fine. So what was your idea for my outfit?" Kurt said, voice barely borderline polite.

"Well, as I said, the Capitol is very materialistic. So, I thought I'd… Well… Pay _tribute_ to them." Blaine said, voice flat and calm, yet there was a devilish look frothing in his eyes.

Kurt had a confused look on his face, and Blaine nodded. "I'll show you what I mean." Blaine said, gesturing over to a tall, wide plank of rubber, covered by a thin blanket.

Kurt cocked his head, puzzled, until Blaine ripped the blanket off the mannequin, to reveal Kurt's costume.

It was a wide, full body jumpsuit, painted sparkly, powder blue, with pointy shoulder pads. Kurt was overwhelmed by how flamboyant it was.

"Well? Do you like it?" Blaine said, his voice seasoned with excitement.

"It's fine… But, This looks like something a Capitol person would wear. How is that showing everyone how materialistic the Capitol is? Isn't that kind of just praising them?" Kurt said, still confused.

"In time, you'll see." Blaine said, evidently trying to hide the brutish look from plastering on his face.

Kurt didn't know what to expect, but he did know one thing: Blaine was more of a fighter than Kurt knew.

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Merely hours later, Kurt's district was next in line for the ceremony. Quinn looked just as strange as Kurt, her attire being a bright yellow frock with ugly green sequins attached to the neckline. Kurt noticed all the other tributes were giving Kurt curious looks. In response, he just popped up his head and bit his cheeks.

Kurt heard a voice call in a blazing tone; "The tributes of District 8!" Kurt had hardly realized his carriage was moving. Then he saw Blaine fiddling with a joystick. "What's tha-" Kurt whispered before his voice was cut off by a loud boom, and a slight vibrating on his torso. He looked down to his costume, and everything besides an array off bulbs on his jumpsuit had been darkened. Kurt could see the bulbs spelling out something, but he couldn't tell what, so he looked up to the screen displaying them, the tributes.

Kurt nearly fell out of the carriage when he saw what was illuminated on his ensemble.

In bright pink neon, on his outfit, and Quinn's, displayed one word.

"UGLY."

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	5. What Am I?

**{A/N}**

**HEYO READERS! So, I was really happy about this chapter. It just kind of came out really well in my opinion. *Polishes imaginary apple. * XD. Well, Enjoy!**

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Kurt stood numbly in the carriage, watching the blurry, foggy world gasp around him. The shock of everyone in the room was so thick you could've sworn it was tangible. Kurt opened his mouth slightly, only to eject a slight, strained squeak, which was instantly amplified throughout the building. The audience began talking in murmurs, something that unsettled Kurt to the greatest extent. Everything was out of his hands now. What was done was done. What unnerved Kurt was the aftermath.

"_Will the Gamemakers throw me in a fire the moment the gong rings? Or leave me at another tribute's hand just for fun?" _Kurt thought, the idea of it all burning Kurt's mind.

But above all, the overpowering emotion in Kurt's heart was anger. _"Why would Blaine do this? Does he want me to die?"_ Kurt thought, his mind blazing over with blame. _"Why?!"_ Kurt's mind screamed, begging helplessly for an answer. An answer that made him feel as secure as when he had shaken Blaine's hand. Of course, Kurt saw now that any degree of safety was a mere illusion. _"They're all out to kill me. Blaine isn't any different than any of the other Capitol people. Never forget that. If anything, keep your dignity."_ Kurt thought. But dignity might be a bit hard to come by when you're on the ground, pinned by a tribute, nothing left short of hope that the death you are about to face is merciful.

Finally, the carriage stopped at the end of a stage that bared President Sabic. She was Panem's first female ruler. It had been decided that Panem's 'democracy' was entirely too sexist, so President Sabic had been elected for a one-year term.

Kurt's mind immediately blocked out all noise. The announcement's the President would make were tedious, untrue, and repetitive. _"No matter what, I will die." _Kurt thought, finally being honest with himself.

This thought brought a strange memory to Kurt's mind. Kurt loved music. He sang, even. There had been one bit of a song that his father would hum or murmur during work that Kurt had picked up. It fit the situation perfectly:

"_It's best to know the truth,_

_Of that I have no doubt._

_But you have to face the future…_

_When the truth comes out."_

Kurt couldn't stop the low trill of the melody escaping from his lips. In a way, this was the security Kurt needed. A bit of home.

When Kurt and Quinn finally got out of the chariot, Kurt could see Quinn was silently trembling. Her face pale, eyes dilated. Kurt was paralyzed. The bulbs light had faded, but still visible to the staring tributes near them.

Will and Blaine ran up to Kurt and Quinn as soon as they saw them. Will immediately 'comforted' both of them by saying; "I'm sure you won't _die_ because of it…" Blaine's sterling eyes refused to meet with Kurt's frigid, jade pupils.

The palpable tension was circled around for the rest of the night. Nobody wanted to cross any sort of line. Dinner was a feast of lobster with a yellow sauce that practically burst with flavor, but is tasted like cotton to the consumers. Blaine was overcome with guilt for an instinctive, undoable decision, and Kurt was ridden with questions with no answers. It seemed as if there was no warning for _anything _anymore, and it was a true test of Kurt's sanity.

Kurt excused himself to bed and walked out the door in a silence louder than any scream. Blaine quickly ran out after him.

"Kurt!" Blaine shouted down the abyss of a hallway. It was obvious Kurt was running now, because Blaine could loud footsteps, disguising quiet sobs.

"Kurt! Please stop!" Blaine said warily. He reached Kurt room, where Kurt had begun to bawl, his head resting on the doorframe.

"Kurt! I'm sorry!" Blaine said, genuinely. He reached for Kurt's shoulder but Kurt's head snapped up, eyes swollen.

"Who the HELL gained ANYTHING from this, Blaine? This couldn't have possibly made the Capitol happy with _you, _and I had no chance of winning _before_, and haven't you made my odds just_ so much _better now!" Kurt said, between wrenched breaths.

"Kurt… I'm sorry… it was a spur of the moment decision that you have to know I _deeply_ regret. But you should know that I truthfully believe you still have a chance of winning." Blaine said, his voice crammed with authenticity.

"How?! I'm not strong, smart, I'm not _anything,_ Blaine!" Kurt shouted.

Then something odd happened. Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand, looked into his eyes so hard that both of the boy's reflections were intensely pronounced in the pair of eyes they were staring into. There was a bolt of depth passing through the close proximity of the two boys. A feeling so intense, Kurt could seldom ignore it.

"Kurt. You've got something no other tribute has. You have-" Blaine was cut off by an emotionless Quinn, unable to find her suite. In farewell, Blaine nodded to Kurt, his face plastered with a plea of forgiveness. Kurt had no response to give him but a pitiless look in his eyes. Once Kurt's mind replayed the conversation, his mind was swirling of what he could be that no other tribute was. He came up empty.

Kurt was too exhausted to do anything besides helplessly crawl into bed. His eyes closed, to spite his active mind.

"What am I?" Was Kurt's last coherent thought of the before he drifted into the horizon of slumber.

* * *

A beeping device awakened Kurt. It was too agitating to ignore, so Kurt reluctantly opened his bloated eyes, and pressed every button on the gadget until it turned off. He instantly remembered his meeting with his mentor, Kayla. He had forgotten all about it yesterday.

"Shit." He groaned. He quickly ran to the dining hall to find an annoyed Kayla sitting at the head of the table, drumming her fingers on the mahogany.

"So. You actually decided to be _present _for something, I see. Well, sit. We have _much _to cover." Kayla said, voice evidently sarcastic.

Quinn was already seated, looking proper and neutral as usual. Kurt sat at the other end of the table. He folded his hands and cocked his head skeptically. He rolled his eyes. "Enlighten me." He said, tone rich with apathy.

"You know, _big shot, _in four days, you could be dead. I wouldn't be surprised, either. So for your own good, I'm offering my advice. But if you don't want it, I _truly_ don't care. Really. Have fun being bled white and in a casket in less than a week." Kayla said, stare hard and heartless. Nothing about her speech gave even the slightest bit of faith in a victory by Kurt.

Kurt sighed, not defeated, but too tired to keep fighting. "Fine. What do we do when the gong sounds?

* * *

The tributes and the mentor ended up talking for four and half hours. After that, Kurt felt completely prepared to start training. Kayla, Quinn, Will, and Kurt all rode in the elevator, down to the 'legendary' training room.

After the mentor and the escort bid the tributes farewell, the reality of it all finally sank in to Kurt once he saw the other tributes, poses vicious, fists clenched ruthlessly.

"_In four days, all 23 of these people's goals will be to slit my throat. Great." _Kurt thought, his mouth as dry as sandpaper, palms aching for Blaine's protective touch.

* * *

Training was grim. There was this "no sitting" rule that Kurt couldn't help breaking once or twice. Today, Kurt had tried the easy stuff. Nothing too energy-consuming. Plant identification, knot tying, cooking insects. All of it came relatively easily to Kurt. "_Too bad none of it matters, face to face with a sword-baring tribute."_ Kurt thought, painfully accurately.

For some reason, the head Gamemaker, Kevin, had kept his sight on Kurt much more than his fair share. Kurt decided to shrug it off, but it made him awfully self-conscious.

Tomorrow was the private session with the Gamemakers. In some weird, mislead way, Kurt wasn't scared. He was ready to prove to everybody he had something the other tributes didn't. He was ready for the truth to be unveiled.

"_You have to face the future when the truth comes out."_

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**Ya'll like it? :D. On the longer side. Oh, that little song in there? It's from Scrubs. BEST TV SHOW EVER. WATCH NOW. Well, until next time! :D REVIEW!**


	6. Golden Eyes

**{A/N}**

**Hey! Do you guys like the new story image? Made by yours truly. *bows* xD. Well, hope you like this! :)**

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Kurt sat on the edge of his hardwood chair. His feet had long since tangled up together and his fingers had been picked at until blood showed. In ten minutes, Kurt would be having his private session with the Gamemakers.

Quinn was, as usual, looking collected. Her perfectly combed blonde hair served at a pillow as she rested against the cold, metal wall of the District 8 waiting room.

Kurt's hair lay in a limp position over his eyes. His tiredness was prominent. After talking to Kayla, Kurt had decided what he was going to do during this session. The decision was risky, but Kurt knew it would work. "Tribute intuition" Kurt thought with a weary smile.

Kurt's subconscious thoughts eventually drifted to Blaine, and his burning eyes. The color was an intense mix of a fiery caramel and a smoldering yellow. When a robotic voice called Kurt's name to come in to the session, Kurt wasn't there. He was happily drifting farther and farther into the chasm that was Blaine.

Finally, Kurt was brought back to himself, and he sat up. His body was chattering, his throat feeling slimy, making it harder to swallow. Kurt's heart that had been so brave only a moment ago was now a quail. Kurt, breathing ragged, walked into to the empty training room. Weapons were laid elegantly across the stage. Dummy's and target's lay untouched near the wall. Kurt whole body felt weak. The Gamemakers were sitting on a balcony, drinking a green spirit.

Kurt upstaged his numb body. His lips felt as if they were coated with sand.

"Kurt Hummel. District 8. " Kurt croaked piercingly. The Gamemakers nodded, unimpressed. Kurt took a few steps back, and did something totally unexpected.

Kurt began to dance.

Kurt's hands were on his hips as he tapped his foot. The Gamemakers were too stupefied to laugh. While Kurt was dancing, no one noticed that he had picked up a slender spear. Suddenly, Kurt stopped dancing. He inhaled, then took a running start, and threw the spear as hard as he could at a target. The spear jutted into the bull's-eye. Kurt pursed his lips and exhaled. The Gamemaker's eyes were dilated, their mouths fully agape. Everything was silent.

"Thank you, for your consideration." Kurt said, bowing slightly, and strutted out of the room.

* * *

The first thing Kurt did when he was out of the training center was run to Kayla's quarters. His actions in the private session had been per her instruction.

"Just do as I say, and ask me why later!" Kayla had barked.

Kurt burst through the polished doors of Kayla's room. "Why? Why did I just dance in front of the people who could kill me? WHY?!" Kurt screamed.

"Because" Kayla purred, smirking. "After that whole 'ugly' debacle, you had no chance of winning them over, so why not have some fun? Put em' in their damn place. And besides, you're handy with that spear, and I read once that people get more strength after dancing." Kayla drawled.

"But now I'm screwed!" Kurt shouted.

"No shit, Sherlock. Now calm down and have a drink." Kayla hummed, pouring a thin red liquid. Kurt had never had alcohol before. He liked being in control of his mind. But he was so angry and confused, that he grabbed the bottle and chugged it until it was empty.

Merely minutes later, the wine had made Kurt's brain completely dazed. It had completely washed Kurt of his anxiety, and his common sense. Hazily, Kurt walked back to his room, only to find Blaine sitting tensely on his bed.

"Kurt!" Blaine said, voice sounding flustered. He was wearing a baggy jacket and tight black jeans. He looked unnerved.

"Kurt, I just really wanted to apologize for the… Well… You know… Outfit thing. It was really selfish of me to do that, and I'm sorry." Blaine rambled.

"Blaine… Blaine… stop shouting. It's okay." Kurt said, voice sloppy. His face held a careless smile.

"Really? Kurt… Are you okay?" Blaine said, head cocked.

"Yes, I'm great." Kurt giggled. "Really, Blaine. I'm fine. Now let me sleep. I have my big interview tomorrow with that man … Caesar salad?" Kurt, his voice slurred.

"Caesar _Flickerman_, Kurt. You're going to be so hung-over for your interview…. Well… Sleep tight." Blaine sighed.

"Thanks. See you tomorrow. By the way, Blaine, since this is a dream, I should tell you, you're eyes are really pretty." Kurt said, his eyes closed and his voice fatigued.

Blaine's breath was jaggedly cut off when Kurt said that. "Wait… Is he…-" Blaine thought, but quickly dismissed the thought of Kurt playing for his team.

"Thank you. Now sleep." Blaine murmured, quietly closing the door.

"G'night, Blaine" Kurt whispered dreamily.

* * *

"UGH." Kurt groaned the moment he woke up. His head was pounding, his stomach aching. The world was dizzy. "Why did I drink so much?" Kurt thought bitterly. When he tried to sit up, all of his muscles received a sharp pang of pain, so he immediately lied back down. All Kurt was able to do for the next hour was lie there, seething in the agony.

"KURT! THEY'RE SHOWING THE TRIBUTE SCORES!" Will shouted. Kurt moaned as he oh-so reluctantly sat up and trudged to the TV room. He just made it just in time for District 8's scores.

"And… _Quinn Fabray_, with a… six." Caesar said, voice coated with false praise.

"Well… That's… That's just fine, Quinn! Isn't that just fine, everybody?" Will got out, and everyone else chimed in with fake approval.

"And now for… _Kurt Hummel,_ with a… Well… Wow… with a _twelve."_ Caesar sputtered. The room exploded.

"Kurt how did you-"

"Wow!"

"Nice going! District 8 for the win!"

Voices were mixed in Kurt's foggy brain. Blaine's stare was curiously fixed on him, but Kurt's face gave away no hints.

"To Kurt Hummel!" Will toast. Quinn's face was stone, and Kurt's mirrored. After moments of deliberation, Kurt just gave up on deciphering the Capitol's intentions with this praise. His brain was still not ready to handle anything more than the faint feeling of someone with triangle eyebrows giving him a light kiss on the hand.

"Good job." Blaine murmured, and with that, he walked back to the group of clanking glasses.

* * *

After lying in bed for hours, Kurt was finally summoned to his wardrobe fitting for his interview.

Still aching, Kurt trudged to a quiet, completely circular room. It was ice cold, and bare of any furniture. It was only a moment until Blaine walked in.

"How bad is the hangover?" Blaine said, only slightly smiling.

"Remind me to never drink again. _Ever."_ Kurt moaned. Blaine grinned.

"Will do. Now, I don't want to… um… break any…. Uh… _Boundaries _this time around, so I decided to go with a very simple outfit." Blaine stammered.

"Okay. Where is it?" Kurt asked, rubbing his temple.

Blaine gestured to a small, dusty wooden box. Kurt opened the lid to reveal a gray blazer, with a purple bowtie and black suspenders. Despite it's initial mislead display, Kurt had to admit Blaine's stylistic choices were exquisite.

"I like it. But there are no… Shall we say… _surprises_ this time are there?" Kurt quipped. Blaine chuckled.

"No. I hope you weren't looking forward to any." Blaine snickered.

"No, It's perfectly alright." Kurt smiled.

"Then it's all set. Be on the first floor at 3 sharp for the interview. I'll see you there." Blaine piped flatly. All Kurt could do was stand there. The momentary lapse of pain had been washed over with unbearable discomfort. Thinking about the interview only added to the malaise. What angle would Kurt play? If only he had more time…

"_No matter what though, there will never be enough time._" Kurt derived.

* * *

"And now the stunning, the fearless, District 7 tribute, Rachael!" The yellow- haired Caesar Flickerman bellowed. A tall girl with a thick, strapless black frilly dress bounded onto the wooden stage. The voices blazing from the speakers right next to Kurt sounded like white noise. Kurt's thoughts were hammering against his body. The girl, Rachael, was surprisingly charming, despite her 9 in training. But all Kurt could process was the fact that _he was going on live television in 60 seconds._

Before Kurt could beg to be taken out of the interview, he was on stage, breathing erratically and unintentionally glaring at the audience.

"Your answer, Mr. Hummel?" Caesar coaxed. It was only then that Kurt processed that he was being interviewed live, and had been asked a question.

"Um… May you repeat the question?" Kurt voice quivered.

"Of course. I was just asking how you managed that incredible twelve in training. Wasn't that just amazing, ladies and gentleman?" Caesar congratulated.

"Well… I guess I just… had some motivation, is all." Kurt stammered.

"Motivation… Like, hope?' Caesar helped.

"No, more like fear." Kurt said, face blank. The laughing audience was confusing him. Had he said something wrong? Caesar was laughing until his tawny powder makeup smeared from sweat.

"Well, that's a first." Caesar guffawed. Kurt was still addled.

"So, Kurt, any hints as to your strategy in the arena?" Caesar quizzed.

Kurt had a vague memory of himself and Kayla going over what he was to say if this question was asked. What they had decided on had been conveniently erased from Kurt's brain.

"To stay alive." Kurt choked out. Again, the audience burst into a fit of roars. Kurt was frantic. He was failing. What could make him memorable?

"Actually…" Kurt said timidly. "This isn't exactly a tactic, but it helped me concentrate at home, and it would probably help me with a kill." Kurt said, his voice wavering.

"Oh. What is it?" Caesar asked.

Kurt stood. His whole insides were decorated with hesitance, but as far and Kurt's brain was sure, he had nothing left to lose.

Kurt sang.

It was a sweet four-note melody that warbled from his lips effortlessly. It had no lyrics, only a tender hum.

The audience was struck. Tears were dramatically wiped; heads were buried in knees. Caesar looked awed. When Kurt was done, the buzzer blared, signaling the end of his interview. Caesar wished him luck with a supple handshake, and Kurt feebly trudged off the stage. After many congratulations from Will, and his Exirptis and Amondia, Kurt was too sapless too watch Quinn's interview. So he loitered to his room, and found Blaine standing outside his door.

"Nice job. Everyone is calling you 'the boy with the song'. No one is going to forget you." Blaine spoke softly. His eyes were an ablaze amber. Kurt was too numb to respond, so he just nodded and went to his bed and fell asleep.

His dreams were full of golden eyes.

* * *

******{A/N}**

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